


Final Gasp

by Verabird



Category: And Then There Were None (TV 2015), And Then There Were None - Christie, CHRISTIE Agatha - Works
Genre: Descriptions of Hanging, F/M, descriptions of death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-16
Updated: 2016-07-16
Packaged: 2018-07-24 07:07:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7498836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Verabird/pseuds/Verabird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vera's last justice, last breath, and last kiss.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Final Gasp

His hand is large, such a mighty hand, the lines of his palm are rough yet the fingertips are soft. It is crafted like a desert valley where the wind blows through the cracks, but the skin is still smooth and feather light. It cradles her face, firm and tender all at the same time, fingers locked on that shuddering jaw without relent.

Vera gasps, a horrid sound, ripped from a throat that is pressed too tightly on a coarse rope. It is rubbing. Minutes it has been, barely that, seconds perhaps, at most, yet it stings and burns and rips.

"Quite my favourite, really."

She can't hear him properly. His voice is blurred, just like the edges of her vision, the black spots, they encompass that dark shape. She remembers him being tall and thin, vulture-like. Now he is a smudge in her eyes.

There is no clarity. The rope is tight and still his fingers close against her throat. They're slender and tense, pressing into the hollow of her neck. Vera feels her eyes water and sting.

Wargrave tilts his head, leans in, predatory in his movements, kisses the rope that clings to Vera's neck. Vera would scream if she had the breath, instead she gasps and chokes, the sound grows more terrible by the second. Any moment now the darkness will eclipse her completely.

Wargrave catches Vera's parted lips in a swift motion. He seems to suck what air is left, akin to an angel of death, drawing all he can from that silent open scream. Vera feels him on her, the sudden warmth, and she leans into it for the air that swirls around her is cold and unforgiving and this is blessed compared to that.

Vera does not want to die.

She closes her mouth for a moment, presses her lips together, feels Wargrave intensely close, but it does not last. He draws back and she desperately opens her mouth again to rip another gasp of air into her lungs.

"Please." The sound is repulsive, removed, it sounds like someone else's voice calling from a distance. She is not sure that it isn't. She is not sure of anything any more.

Wargrave is cupping her face again now. His thumb strokes gently across her cheeks and his nail scrapes over skin. Every small pain is magnified as the blood rushes to her head and Vera feels the fingers sting on her skin.

"Please," She repeats, not knowing whether she was heard the first time, whether she even spoke at all.

She feels a hand at her waist, gentle, smooth, a cupping palm that travels across her stomach. It draws the wet material of her clothes, the cloth dragging over her skin. He pushes a hand more firmly into her waist, strokes her hip, glances over her breasts with a delicate motion.

Vera knows that if she endures this then she might be saved. As Wargrave kisses her again and his hand squeezes in a place that it really shouldn't, Vera doesn't think she is simply enduring. It is more, the tangible sense of the judge's hands are strong and commanding and she is willing to curve inward at his touch. She remembers she has not taken a breath for several moments and she tries once more to draw in air. It is hopeless, she is hanging on by a thread, a read of thin air that will never be enough.

She hears a soft laugh, but perhaps it is a demon from the other side, haunting, calling. She tastes salt water on her lips, the Justice on her tongue, and it burns her eyes as well. Vera feels the pain in her toes increase. Her feet are stretched taut, bending and dancing desperately as they scramble for purchase.

A moment more. A moment longer.

Wargrave leans in again and holds the rope close to the knot. He pulls it, wringing the last of Vera's breaths from her struggling body. He kisses her forehead with such tenderness, Vera feels her body turn to wax and melt beneath those benevolent lips.

And then he lets go. He drops the rope, lets her face fall from his hands, abandons her to dangle. Free and helpless.

The chair beneath her feet is gone. There is no more air, no more breaths. He stole the last from her.

Vera can see him standing in the doorway, a dark figure, a spectre, cutting out the light. The room is pale, she remembers that, although she cannot see the colours so clearly any more. Her vision is dull. It fades away along with her mind.

Her last thought is of the salt on her lips.

 


End file.
